Woodwork
by Shattered Inkwell
Summary: Transforming a corpse into a being of manipulation was an art, and he was Sunagakure’s finest. [Sasori Drabble.]


**Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.**

**Woodwork**

The surroundings of the old workshop were most definitely the worse for wear.

The workspace was cramped and unkempt; cluttered with various tools spread out amongst tabletops and shelves. The stone walls were cracked and crumbling, and bits of wire and broken gears were laid to one side, most likely forgotten due to their outdate of usefulness. Overall, the placement would have been considered a typical work establishment, had it not been for the overwhelming scent of stale blood and rotting flesh that lingered in the air.

Slivers of light that had somehow managed to creep in through the grime covered windows gave the area an inaudible glow, illuminating the surface of an aged wooden work bench. The grain was stained with dried blood that had begun to flake away, and splintered pieces of wood littered the exterior; all the indication of Sasori's skilled craftsmanship.

The Sand nin's pale hands picked up one of the instruments off the table and examined it with care, before using it slice open the flesh of the body before him. He always went about his trade with excellent precision and expertise, only pausing momentarily in the midst of his effort to gently caress the smooth face of the woman he was working on. The finalized result of his previous work, the body of a young male, lay on the tabletop behind him.

* * *

It had always been quite clear that Sasori had never been a normal child.

It was to be expected, of course. After all, there was only so much sanity a youth could maintain when growing up in a village that was constantly amidst hardship, death, and suffering. Life after life was lost in battle after battle; it had grown to become a natural cycle.

But he wasn't like any of the other Sand children, not in the least. His behavior was not that of a typical young boy.

He could never remember smiling, nor laughing, nor anything associated with cheer. In fact, he couldn't really remember experiencing any emotions at all.

He had never felt the warmth of a parents' embrace, nor soft touch of a parents' kind hand. It was as though he barely knew his parents at all.

The only moments he _could_ remember were those spent with his grandmother. She had been the one to instill him in the art of puppetry and had taught him everything she knew about the technique. It originally instigated him to become quite interested in the matter, and he was exceptionally eager to learn and master its skill.

Then eagerness and appreciation developed into morbid fascination.

He grew obsessed with the method. He created his tools himself, beginning with plain wood and steel and gears and cogs, and then finally moving onto human carcasses. He allowed himself to drown in its culture and perfected it to its finest until he remained unsurpassed in the puppet jutsu. It was a gruesome beguilement, but transforming a corpse into a being of manipulation was an art, and Sasori was Sunagakure's finest.

Yet as much of a thrill as his artistry gave him, it had never once brought a smile to his face. It was a wonderment that it gave him any emotions whatsoever. He had always been a living, breathing shell with the inability to feel anything related to human nature. Even when his grandmother had presented the cold, bleeding bodies of his mother and father, he had felt not an ounce of sorrow.

Sasori laid down his contrivances; staring down at his nearly accomplished project. Long, thin strands of dark hair clung softly to the woman's beautiful, lifeless face. He brushed them aside with admiration, before temperately lifting her into a sitting position so as to insert the chakra strings into her back.

He flicked a finger experimentally, and in answer his creation jerked at his command. Raising his opposite hand, he performed the same action with the male puppet. Upon receiving the same reaction, let out a sigh of somewhat relief, and moved his hands to further instruct them.

And their stiff, wooden joints creaking to comply to his directive, the now timber-fleshed bodies of his beloved mother and father sluggishly moved to capture their son in a tight embrace.

And Sasori smiled.


End file.
